


(take a piece of my heart and) make it all your own

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, M/M, copious amounts of cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 14:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: The thing is, Mitch isn't sixteen and seeking out immediate true love, not anymore, at least. He doesn’t really need the perfect moment, knows that it’s unrealistic to expect fanfare and butterflies and instant sparks, to expect love at first sight.Except.“Hi, I’m Auston.”And.“Hey, I’m Mitch.”





	(take a piece of my heart and) make it all your own

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there is a brief, somewhat onesided, past pairing including Mitch and some side pairings so please check the endnotes for those if that's something of concern!

Mitch has been waiting for  _ Matty _ since he was eight years old and the letters had gently appeared on his wrist, a messy scrawl fizzling onto his skin like fireworks. 

He’s traced over each curve of the name more times than anyone could imagine, whispered those two syllables over and over again, like if he says it enough he can single handedly will  _ Matty _ into existence. It’s almost a prayer to fate, a demand to deliver what it’s promised.

He gets his soulmark relatively early, a little younger than average and much younger than when Chris got his. His parents aren’t expecting it at all, aren’t prepared for it, so he has to wait a few days to get an armband fitting, a few more while it’s made. 

In the meantime, he gets to show off the scribble on his wrist like a shiny new toy, letting his friends at school trace over it, letting his teammates poke at it before practice. Mitch doesn’t know any other eight year olds with a soulmark, it makes him feel special, exceptional. He’s got a soulmate, someone of his very own, that’s already out there somewhere, waiting for him. 

Mitch wonders what  _ Matty _ ’s wrist looks like, if his  _ Matty _ likes to trace over the little curve at the end of his “t” or if they likes the way “Mitch” rolls off their tongue. He wonders if  _ Matty _ has to wait for an armband, too, if they’re showing off their soulmark the way Mitch is, the way Mitch  _ gets  _ to.

But eventually, Mitch’s armband comes in the mail. It’s a set of four, two for everyday use and two for hockey. They come in a pretty cool box, with velvety lining that Mitch likes to run his fingers over. 

He doesn’t like the idea of covering up his soulmark. It feels like he’s hiding  _ Matty _ from the world, locking them away to be forgotten. Mitch doesn’t want to forget them, Mitch wants to go out there and find them so they can be together and be best friends and live happily ever after.

What if he meets them without knowing? What if they never know they’re soulmates because they’ll never see each other’s soulmarks? What if he never finds them?

When he tells this to his mom, she laughs and kisses his forehead. 

“Don’t worry sweetie,” she assures him, “you’ll meet  _ Matty _ one day and you’ll know.”

 

~

 

When Mitch gets to the big league, some of the guys are a lot more…  _ progressive _ , when it comes to their soulmarks. Given, it’s mostly the ones who’ve already found their soulmates, happily settled down and already living their happily ever after. Mitch wonders when he’ll get his.  _ If _ he’ll ever get his.

Mitch wants to believe in the soulmarks, his soulmark, he really, really does. But he’s getting older, he’s watched his brother and his teammates and his friends find theirs, find their happy ending. And then there’s Mitch, still waiting. Still wishing, hoping. 

He really wants to believe. 

Anyway.

As the laws change, more and more of the guys are without their armbands, freely showing off their soulmarks like they’re shouting their soulbond to the whole entire world without reservation. Like they’re boasting their marks, as if it’s something special, something exceptional. 

It’s not fair, because Mitch remembers a time when that’s all he ever wanted to do. When he wanted to shuck off his armband every time he met a Matthew, when his fingers would play at the edges of it when he’d introduce himself to a Matt. There’s a lot of them -- Matthew’s and Matt’s, he means -- in hockey. There were a lot of moments when Mitch just wanted to  _ check. _

But he’s not sixteen and seeking out true love at first sight, not anymore, at least. He doesn’t really need the perfect moment, knows it’s unrealistic to expect fanfare and butterflies and instant sparks, to expect love at first sight.

Except.

“Hi, I’m Auston.”

And.

“Hey, I’m Mitch.”

 

~

 

Auston’s pretty traditional when it comes to his soulmark.

He wears his armband religiously, like if he lets even the tiniest bit of skin show past his tan line, it’ll become a national scandal that ruins him forever. 

It’s not that Auston’s the only one who’s pretty protective of his soulmark, it’s pretty standard, actually, but Mitch likes to think that he and Auston are friends. That he and Auston are close enough to relax around each other and not be so uptight about the soulmark thing.

And it’s not like Auston is modest, the asshole walks around half-naked all the time. Yeah, they’re hockey players and that’s more or less accepted practice, but sometimes Mitch thinks Auston has a mild aversion to shirts. 

So it’s a little confusing when you lay it out like that. Auston doesn’t care about half his articles of clothing, he’ll take them or leave them, but god forbid he’s ever without his armband. Go ahead and flash your ass, but wrists are just  _ too _ risque for Auston Matthews. 

Mitch asks him about it once, when it’s just the two of them. They’re sprawled out on opposite ends of Mitch’s couch, Fortnite running on the xbox so they can take turns playing solos and critiquing each other’s strategy and gameplay. Auston’s queueing up a round while Mitch lazily flicks through instagram.

He comes across a post from one of his old buddies from bantam, someone he hasn’t actually talked to in years. It’s the classic, cliche soulbond picture, where both partners have their wrists laid out side by side, a close up on their marks. It’s unoriginal and a little annoying. Mitch double taps it anyway. 

“Do you ever think about your soulmate?” Mitch holds up his phone, makes Auston look at it.

Auston makes a face. “Not really.”

“For real?” Mitch presses. “I think about mine all the time.”

“I thought you haven’t found yours yet?” Auston says, blindly running his on-screen character in circles when it renders onto spawn island. 

“I haven’t.”

“Then how can you think so much about someone that you don’t even know?” Auston huffs. The screen cuts to the bus and Auston is only half into it, doesn’t even bother bringing up the map. 

When Auston puts it like that, it does sound kind of ridiculous. But that’s what people do; they think about their soulmates, spend their lives looking for their soulmates, chase after their soulmates. That’s the standard and it’s everything Mitch has ever known. He can’t wrap his head around how Auston just throws his fate to the side like that, like it’s nothing, like his soulmate doesn’t  _ mean _ something to him.

“But they’re still your soulmate,” Mitch settles on. “They’re part of you, you know?”

Auston hums, thoughtful but neutral. “Maybe it’ll be different when I meet them,” he puts down his controller and faces Mitch. “But you can’t be in love with something that doesn’t even exist yet.”

Mitch frowns, then speaks before he thinks. “Why are you so anti-soulmates?”

“I’m not,” Auston protests. “I just don’t think it’s as magical and gratifying as everyone seems to think.”

“It’s not  _ magical _ ,” Mitch interrupts. “It’s fate.”

“Yeah and what’s fate have to do with how  _ I _ feel?” Auston snaps. “Don’t you have free will, Marns? What if  _ fate _ decides that I have to be in love with someone I barely even know and everything somehow has to be perfect. What if it’s not?”

“That’s not--” Mitch tries, taken off-guard. “That’s not how soulmates work!”

“How do you know?” Auston says. “Because it’s obviously not from firsthand experience.”

Mitch breathes in sharply.  _ Low fucking blow, bro. _ “You don’t have to be an asshole.”

“And you don’t have to believe in fairy tales.”

Mitch stands up quickly, heated and  _ so _ not in the mood for Auston’s bullshit. “I think you should go.”

Auston softens then, the fight visibly leaving him. But he stands up nonetheless, runs his hand through his hair. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. But,” he pauses, “just think about it?”

Mitch sighs. “Aus.”

“Okay,” Auston acquiesces. “I’ll go.”

Auston goes but Mitch still feels like shit.

 

~

 

When Mitch is ten years old, he reads a book about soulmates.

It’s not a textbook, it’s not like the dry material he’s had to read about soulbonds in science class. It’s a novel, a love story, written for his age group and handpicked for him by his mother. She says it might answer his questions, might help him stop worrying about his soulmate so much.

It’s a cliche story, stripped down so it makes sense for kids. It’s written like a fairy tale, starts with “once upon a time” and ends in “happily ever after” and everything. The main character is late to find their soulmate but they do find them in the end. It’s love at first sight. Their connection is instantaneous. They’re in love and that’s it, everything works out in the end. There are no ifs, no ands, and no buts. 

Mitch doesn’t really like reading all that much, doesn’t really have the patience for it, but he reads the book over and over and over again. He reads it as if he expects the ending to be different. He reads it just in case it does. 

The book becomes a promise, of sorts. Objectively, Mitch realizes that everyone’s story is different. He knows that sometimes there are complications and sometimes it isn’t that easy. But that won’t happen for him, can’t happen for him. Because  _ Matty _ appeared on his skin so confidently, so prompt. That has to count for something, it has to. It has to be some sort of sign.

As an adult, Mitch knows he probably shouldn’t still be using a children’s book as a guideline for his life, not anymore, but it’s too late now. 

It can’t be helped.  _ He _ can’t be helped.

 

~

 

The guys like to chirp Mitch about a lot of things; his soulmate search, his size, his suits, his smiley face ritual.

It’s all good-natured and supposed to be in good fun, of course. It’s their way of connecting with Mitch, and he knows that, he does, but it still gets to him sometimes, when it hits a little too close to home.

Naz snatches the sharpie out of his hands before a home game, mid-drawing. Mitch pouts but he smiles, too. Reaches for it and wrestles with him until he gets it back.

“Do you do that every game?” Naz nods, when Mitch continues to draw the smiley faces on his palms, a little winded from their game.

“Sure do,” Mitch affirms, head held high. He owns it and he laughs along because that’s the right thing to do here. And sure enough Naz makes a considering face, shrugs, and lets him be.

It still comes up sometimes, an offhanded chirp here and there, but when Mitch forgets his sharpie one game, someone has a spare ready for him, tosses it to him without hesitation. They tease sometimes but Mitch knows they’ve got his back.

It’s a little different when it comes to his soulmate dilemmas, though.

It’s typical guy talk, murmuring about soulmates when you’ve got a private table in a private room at the back of the bar. They’re a couple drinks in, Mitch is slowing down, lazily sipping at the same beer he’s had for the past half hour. Gards starts it, he leans in, pulls up his sleeve to reveal his bare wrist.

“It’s so weird free-wristin’,” he says, rotating his wrist around for the table to see. “But we decided to both do it, after, well, y’know.” He puts his other hand in the center, too, this time showing off the metal band on his finger. 

Mitch must be making a face because Brownie shoves at him a little. “Aw, cheer up, Marns, you’ll find your soulmate one day and you’ll be in love and free-wristing before you know it.”

Auston frowns from across the table, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Naz calls him out on it. “What’s up with you?”

Uncomfortable, Auston shifts but he explains, “I think it’s stupid to just expect to find your soulmate and automatically just fall in love and get married and run into the sunset.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Matty,” Gards jumps back in. “That’s how soulmates work.”

“I don’t want my soulmate to love me just because I’m their soulmate,” Auston rolls his eyes. “I want them to love me because they love me.”

“What does that even mean?” Mitch blurts, “Isn’t that what being soulmates is?”

Auston groans, frustrated. “No. It’s bigger than just  _ being _ soulmates, Marns.”

And Mitch must make another face again, because Auston looks like he’s about to take it back, and Brownie’s throwing his arm around Mitch’s shoulders companionably.

“Lay off, Matty,” Naz whispers, but does a piss poor job of it because Mitch can still hear him loud and clear. “Let little Mitchy here dream, okay?” 

 

~

 

There’s a lot of false alarms, as in, times where Mitch is so sure he’s finally found his soulmate, finally found the  _ Matty _ that’s been on his wrist since he was eight. These, of course, never pan out and more often than not, result in a little bit of embarrassment and a whole lot of disappointment. 

Mitch knows that every time he asks, it’s a shot in the dark. That’s armbands for you, forcing you to put in the work and build up the courage, build up the  _ hope, _ just for all of that to come crumbling down the moment the armband comes off.

There’s a certain kind of look you get when you bring it up and the Matty (or Matthew or Matt or Matilda or even Martha) already knows what’s on their wrist, knows that it’s not any interpretable form of Mitchell Marner. 

And unfortunately for Mitch, he becomes well-acquainted with that look.

It’s not like it doesn’t go both ways. Mitch has met plenty of people -- classmates and teammates, boys and girls -- who shyly peel off their armbands and show him the “Mitch” or “Mitchy” or “Mitchell” (one time a “Chelly”) marked on their skin. And each and every time is met with Mitch smiling kind of sadly, apologizing when he slips his own armband off to show them  _ Matty,  _ a name that never fits.

At the end of day, it boils down to the fact that Mitch has searched, Mitch has been seeked, but his soulmate has yet to be found.

 

~

 

Mitch is eighteen when he’s almost certain that he’s found his soulmate. For real this time.

Maybe he’s still riding the high of actually getting drafted by his hometown team, maybe it’s from receiving that shiny new “C” on his chest, but he’s never been so sure of a prospective soulmate in his life. Which, yeah, he says this most of the time but this one is different. This one is his best friend, this one is hockey, this one is everything he could ever imagine having in a soulmate. It has to be him.

 

~

 

Mitch has been on plenty of teams. He’s had plenty of lineys with incredible ice chemistry. He’s made plenty of hockey best friends, the type that he snapchats every single day without fail. Mitch has been on plenty of teams but nothing has ever felt so much like  _ family _ like London does. 

London means so much to him that he doesn’t even care that he shares his “C” with Dvo. Actually, he  _ does _ care, in the type of way that he’s ecstatic, he’s excited, even, to split something so important with one of his best friends. He and Dvo grew up on this team together, they built this team up together. It only makes sense that they lead this team together, too.

Dvo’s a great bro, and if it weren’t for  _ Matty _ then Mitch thinks they could’ve been soulmates. But they’re not, there’s no way that “Christian Dvorak” could possibly be bended into  _ Matty, _ no matter how hard Mitch tries. 

So Mitch is sixteen, huddled together with Dvo under one blanket in his billet’s basement, marathoning HBO on an off day. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to find my soulmate,” Mitch confesses in one breath, pretty much out of nowhere. But he knows that Dvo is his friend, Dvo is safe.

And he’s right because Dvo doesn’t even bat an eye. “I think a lot of people feel like that. I mean, there’s a lot of people in the world, it makes sense.”

Mitch leans his head on Dvo’s shoulder, breathes out through his nose. “Do you think you’ll find yours?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, careful not to jostle Mitch. “They’re my soulmate. We’re meant to find each other eventually, don’t you think? Fate is fate.”

“I guess,” Mitch says, still unsatisfied. He subconsciously fidgets with the edge of his armband, a bad habit he’s been trying to kick since day one. 

Dvo doesn’t mind, though. He reaches out and grabs Mitch’s arm, repositions him so he can’t play with his armband anymore, does it like it’s nothing, like it’s completely normal. “I’m going to find my soulmate and you’re going to find yours. You will.”

“How are you so sure?”

Mitch frowns and Dvo immediately starts laughing, ruffling Mitch’s hair in a half-hearted noogie. 

“Because I know you, and you’re so fucking determined that you’ll end up wishing your soulmate into existence if that’s what it takes.”

 

~

 

Matthew Tkachuk joins the Knights, joins Mitch’s  _ family, _ in the year of his captaincy. So naturally, Mitch makes it a point to be a good captain, the best captain, and make sure that Chucky knows that the Knights are his family, too, now. 

It’s not like Chucky is a rookie, not really. Mitch doesn’t completely understand how USNTDP works, doesn’t fully grasp the American route, but he does understand that Chucky is good at hockey and is old enough that he doesn’t need the whole big brother routine like Tommy and Bou do.

Plus, Chucky was raised on hockey, breathes hockey, has known it since the womb. So Chucky doesn’t need a mentor, but Mitch figures that everyone can always spare for a friend. The  _ best _ friend part just kind of falls into place.

But with Chucky living and breathing hockey, having always been more or less in the spotlight, he’s pretty reserved when it comes to soulmates and his armband. It’s understandable, when Mitch really thinks about it. He can’t imagine the problems with exposing your child’s soulmark to the world. Chucky’s just been taught to be careful because the consequences have always been that much greater for him.

So Mitch doesn’t know much about Chucky’s soulmark, but he sure knows a lot about his own.

The thing is, London is his family and Mitch loves them with his entire being. If he could take his whole entire team to the NHL ( _ to the Leafs! _ ) with him, well, it wouldn’t even be a question. No hesitation, hands down, would commit in a heartbeat. 

Mitch is also a tactile person, something that can’t be helped. Because he’s their captain, because he’s grown up with this team, no one really protests anymore. It’s expected, even, and not unusual for anyone to get all hugged on by their captain. Dvo is an especially good bud, has always let him hang off of him more often than not, so it’s more than easy to translate that over to Chucky, too. Natural even.

They hang out a lot, the three of them, sometimes with more of the guys, sometimes with less, sometimes only them. There’s a lot of shared blankets and postgame cuddle seshes on basement couches. There’s lots of heart to hearts in the dark, in the late hours of the night. There’s a lot of things they do that make Mitch warm from the inside out, that make him feel so sure that this is exactly where he belongs.

And then they win the Mem Cup together and Mitch has never felt so on top of the world, has never felt so much like everything is perfect and exactly the way it should be. He loves his team with every ounce of his being, can’t imagine meeting anyone outside of this team that he could feel so connected with, so intertwined with. 

Dvo and Chucky are right there with him, literally at his sides, arms thrown around each other. They’re laughing and smiling and cheering and it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Everything is perfect. If there is such thing as love at first sight, Mitch thinks it would be feel like this.

Chucky hugs him again, hold him close and shouts some kind of praise and congratulations in his ear, and Mitch melts into it, feels like there’s nowhere else on this earth that he’d rather be.

The thing is, Mitch never thought it was even possible to fall in love with someone other than your soulmate. It never occurred to him that you  _ could. _

Everything just makes sense. This one is his best friend, this one is hockey, this one is everything he could ever imagine having in a soulmate. It has to be him.

 

~

 

They’re at Chucky’s billet and Mitch is helping him pack to go home, to go all the way back to St Louis for the offseason. He’s not sure how far that really is, not in miles, not in hours, but he knows that it’s not here. He knows that it’s not with him.

Chucky’s going to be drafted in less than a month. He’s supposed to go top ten. There’s always a chance that he won’t be back again, not to London and not to Ontario. Hell, there’s chance that Mitch won’t even be back. Hopefully, actually, if he wants things to work out with the Leafs, and god does Mitch want things to work out with the Leafs.

So Mitch is at Chucky’s, just the two of them, packing up his jerseys and his hoodies into boxes together. It’s now or never.

They’re folding up his clothes side by side, close enough that their shoulders are bumping. It’s not abnormal, not with Mitch, anyway, but with everything going on in Mitch’s head, it’s kind of a lot. Picking a moment when things start to slow down, Mitch takes a deep breath and Chucky immediately straightens up. He knows Mitch well enough by now to know that something is up.

“What do you think of soulmates?” Mitch says in one breath, feels his face heat up.

Chucky blinks, turns until he can face him proper. “The same as everyone, I think,” he says, cautious. Then, after a beat, “why?”

Mitch swallows, locks eyes with Chucky. And then he yanks his armband off.

“What are you--!”

“Matty?” Mitch says, quiet, the word a little weird on his tongue. Chucky’s always been Chucky to him, but...

He holds out his wrist so Chucky can see.

There’s a look that Mitch Marner has unfortunately become well-acquainted with. It’s that certain look you get when you bring up your soulmark but the Matty (or Matthew or Matt or even Chucky) already knows what’s on their wrist, knows that it’s not any interpretable form of Mitchell Marner. 

Knows that when he carefully peels off his own armband to show Mitch, it says “Chris” in curly cursive letters that are distinctly not his own. 

“I’m sorry,” Chucky whispers, and maybe Mitch is imagining it, but he sounds genuinely sad, genuinely disappointed. Maybe that’s what hurts the most.

“No,” Mitch says, heart in his throat, and feeling like the whole world has been spun upside down, like he’s been painfully thrown back to square one. Like everything he’s ever known is wrong. Like everything is still wrong. “I’m sorry.”

 

~

 

Mitch knows what it feels like to be in love. Whether with a person or a moment, he’s not sure what it really was, but he knows what it feels like and desperately holds on to the memory of it, just in case he’ll never get the chance to feel it again.

But Mitch realizes one day, much to his own horror, that he won’t need to worry about that. The part where he won’t feel what it’s like to be in love again, because he knows the feeling, thinks about it often, knows it well. He’d recognize it anywhere.

It’s not even like anything romantic is happening, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special or exceptional. It’s a hockey game, just like the thousands he’s played before, and he’s sitting on the bench with Auston, waiting for his next shift, just like the rest of them. 

The ACC starts playing music and Mitch knows this one, starts humming along to it. But then Auston kind of grins and nudges him a little, starts singing the words, off-key and obnoxious. But he’s grinning so big and he keeps poking at Mitch to join him. 

So that’s how they end up singing “Living on a Prayer” on the bench, in the middle of a game. It’s just so light and it feels so natural that Mitch doesn’t even recognize it at first, the feeling bubbling in his stomach and filling his chest. It’s a warmth that spreads to the tips of his fingers and must shine through when he laughs, when he smiles, nudging Auston right back.

Mitch doesn’t realize it until later, long after the game has ended and he’s curled up in his bed with his ages-old favorite pillow and his 2016 London Knights plaque staring at him from across the room. 

Recognition hits him like a train and suddenly the warm feeling in his chest twists into hurt and panic and something not too far off from fear. 

He knows what it feels like to fall in love, but he also knows what it feels like to be heartbroken. And fuck, he hates that feeling more than anything in the world. Would do anything to never feel it ever again.

_ Never again. _

 

~

 

Mitch knows that the smart thing to do, for his own sake, would be to distance himself from Auston. But he also knows that people would notice right away, that  _ Auston _ would notice right away. And that would mean explaining his whole life story and also his totally inappropriate crush on his teammate. His teammate whose name is Auston, a name that is very much not on his wrist. 

Sure, the guys call him Matty sometimes, but Mitch has never called him Matty, always Auston or Aus, or Matts if he’s looking to switch it up. Besides, Mitch has never heard of a soulmark of anything other than a first name, especially not a hockey nickname. That’s so not romantic, so not  _ soulmates. _

Besides, if they were soulmates, wouldn’t Auston have said something already? Mitch doesn't know what’s on Auston’s wrist, doesn’t have a clue, but surely Auston would’ve said something by now if he had Mitch’s mark on him. He might not be super into the soulmates thing, but he knows how important it is to Mitch. He’d tell him, Mitch knows he’d tell him.

So Mitch concludes a few things; (1) he in in love with Auston, (2) Auston is not his soulmate, and (3) he has to  _ stop _ being in love with Auston. Quickly, and without anyone noticing.

He tries so hard, tries not to look at him like that, tries not to think about him like that, tries not to  _ feel _ for him like that. But then Auston is grinning all confident and genuine and unfiltered. He’s laughing and nudging his way into Mitch’s space, expecting Mitch to knock their shoulders together, to start wrestling with him. He saves a seat on the bus and the plane for Mitch, leaves room for Mitch to lean on him, to rest his head on his shoulder and sometimes even his chest. He expects Mitch to tackle him, to throw his arms around him, wholeheartedly welcomes it, even.

Mitch tries his best to fall  _ out _ of love with Auston, but finds himself falling more and more in the opposite direction.

 

~

 

Auston pisses him off a lot but Auston also makes him smile, makes him feel like he has a home here, a place on this team.

It’s not the same as London, at least not yet. Mitch isn’t sure that it can ever be the same as London. He grew up on that team, was shaped by that team, left a piece of himself with that team. There’s nothing that can compare to it.

But doing this -- the whole taking-on-the-NHL thing -- with Auston comes pretty close. 

There’s just something about him that makes Mitch relax in a way that’s usually kind of hard for him. Mitch knows he has a pretty bad case of pregame nerves, knows he sometimes takes a loss a little too hard. After all, Mitch is an idealist, it gets a little hard when the big league, the big dream, isn’t quite up to par.

Yet, somehow Auston always knows what he needs, just when he needs it. And honestly, Mitch would be so annoyed with him if it wasn’t for how well it worked. So he lets Auston do his thing, because it works for him, because he likes it.

He lets Auston wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him in close. It’s so routine that the guys don’t even question it anymore. He lets Auston still his shaking leg with a hand on his thigh, lets Auston nudge him in the ribs unless he nudges him back. 

He lets Auston in when he knocks on his hotel room door, doesn’t complain when he crawls into bed with Mitch and wraps the covers around them. Allows him to queue up Netflix and snuggle up close until he forgets all about his bad passes and awful turnovers, until all he can think about is the present.

Until all he can think about is  _ them. _

The worst part is that Mitch doesn’t do this passively, he tries to lie to himself but he’s just as proactive in their deal, more often than not. 

Auston isn’t a very expressive guy, he’s a little guarded and sometimes a little hard to read. But Mitch knows him so well, knows all of his little tells and quirks, that even if no one else can read Auston, he’s pretty confident in his own Auston-related abilities. Auston isn’t very expressive but he can be a whirlwind of emotions, if you know what to look for.

Even if Mitch is in love with Auston, and even if he’s trying to  _ not _ be in love with Auston, he is still Auston’s friend and there’s nothing that can change that, nothing that can make Mitch stop caring about him the way that he does.

So when Auston has a shitty game, when Auston is sitting a little bit stiffer or wrinkles his nose a little bit more than usual, Mitch is already there, hugging him close and drawing his stupid smiley faces on his things when he’s not looking.

Auston acts annoyed, but Mitch doesn’t miss the way his shoulders loosen up, the way the muscles in his face relax just a little.

Doesn’t miss the tennis ball with the stupid smiley face that stays permanently in Auston’s bag.

 

~

 

Auston tells him one day, when they’re curled up together on a hotel bed in some hockey city far away from home.

“I’m not anti-soulmates,” he starts, which Mitch starts to sit up at, but Auston pushes him back down, keeps him tucked under his arm. “I’m just… I think I’m just scared?” His voice is so small and it’s so far from the Auston he knows from the locker room, but maybe not too far off from the Auston he knows when it’s just the two of the like this.

“Me too,” Mitch admits, muffled, his face tucked into Auston’s chest and the covers pulled up to his nose. 

Auston makes a noise, confused. “But you love soulmates. You love  _ your _ soulmate.”

“I do,” Mitch insists, “which is why it’s really going to suck if I never find them.”

“But what if,” Auston stops, then starts again, “what if you never found your soulmate, the one on your wrist, but you found someone you loved?”

Mitch instantly tenses and sits up, and Auston doesn’t stop him this time. He doesn’t stop him but he’s wide-eyed and looks like he’s about to panic, so Mitch does his best to relax until he can shake his head and knock their shoulders together in half-hearted reassurance.

“I’ve already been in love,” Mitch murmurs, like the words physically hurt him to say out loud, to finally admit it, “with someone who wasn’t my soulmate. And I’ve had to deal with the consequences of that.”

Auston is quiet, must not know what to say, or at least how to say it. 

So instead, he pulls Mitch back under the covers, back under his arms, and holds him, like this is the last chance he’ll ever get to have him like this.

Mitch has a feeling that it might be.

 

~

 

It’s not hard to distance himself from Auston anymore because Auston has taken it upon himself to do it for him. 

There’s that little piece of him that was still holding out, still hoping, a little piece that he had shoved all the way back but couldn’t quite smother. It’s the same little piece that wouldn’t let him stop, wouldn’t let him shy from Auston’s touch and his presence and his warmth and --

There was a little piece of him that isn’t there anymore, a little piece that he can finally put to rest.

Mitch knows what it feels like to be heartbroken. Whether because he lost a friend or lost the moment, he’s not sure what it really was, but he knows what it feels like and desperately holds on to the memory of it, just in case he’ll have to recognize it if he feels it again.

And recognition hits him. Hits him like a train.

 

~

 

Mitch is fifteen when he learns about complications, issues that can happen with the whole soulmate thing. They’re incredibly rare, but they do happen sometimes. Most people don’t even find out they have a complication until they’ve aged and it’s unlikely that they’ll find their soulmate.

There are also people who don’t have a complication, but are left waiting their whole lives because they don’t find their soulmate until it’s almost too late. They live out their entire lives with a piece of themselves missing. It’s also uncommon, because fate is rarely so cruel, but it happens. 

There are graver circumstances. No complications, no waiting, but instead the mortality of a soulmate, something that will leave only half of a whole on this earth to mourn the part of them that’s missing. Whether they’ve had to opportunity to meet them already or not. 

Mitch is fifteen but it’s like all his concerns and fears from when he was eight, ten years old come rushing back to him in a flood. It’s overwhelming, knowing that there’s a chance, no matter how small, that he’ll have to live without his soulmate. It terrifies him, knowing that he may never fill the void that he knows has been carved out specifically for his one person.

His mom makes him read his book, tells him about how she and his father had met, shows him her wrist with “Paulie” neatly written over her veins. She hugs him tight and promises that somewhere out there, there’s a nice boy or girl called  _ Matty _ that is probably hugging their own mother, worried that they’ll never find their  _ Mitchy. _

Mitch hopes they find their  _ Mitchy. _

 

~

 

Mitch watches from the bench when Auston misses what should’ve been an easy pass and the other team scoops it up easily, lifting it into the net before Freddie can even process what’s happened. They celly hard, banging on the glass and piling up, because there’s three minutes left in the third and they just tied it up. 

Fuck.

So they go to overtime and Babs isn’t happy, orders Mitch’s line out there on the first shift. Mitch is exhausted by now, but he swings himself over the boards and gets ready for it. He’ll play every shift like it could be his last. Mitch is young, his play can vary sometimes, but no one can ever doubt that he plays with heart.

Even if Mitch never finds his soulmate, he’ll always have hockey. He’ll always love hockey, soulmate or not.

Well.

Mitch gets the puck and starts to bring it down, determined to finish this game off. But he doesn’t see the guy coming at him from the side, isn’t expecting him to swoop in like he does, effectively stripping Mitch of the puck, like it was the easiest thing in the world. No one else was expecting it either, apparently, because he makes it all the way back to Freddie, unchallenged.

He shoots, he scores, and they lose the game, let it slip right through their fingers, just like that.

Riemer’s immediately by his side, in his ear. He’s saying something about how it’s not his fault or whatever but Mitch can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears, blood pumping with adrenaline. He goes through the motions in the locker room, through the media, on autopilot. Doesn’t remember exactly what he says or does. He takes a longer shower than normal, lets scalding hot water pelt him, as if it’ll cleanse him. (It doesn’t).

By the time he’s out and dressed, there’s only a couple guys left. He doesn’t bother saying anything as he leaves, muscle memory taking him back to his car. He starts up his car and is vaguely thankful for the empty streets, still feeling numb from the game. In fact, he doesn’t realize where exactly he’s driving to, not until he’s turning onto the too-familiar block and parking in front of a too-familiar building.

Oh. Well, he’s here anyway.

Against his better judgement, he knocks on the door, isn’t surprised when Auston opens it and immediately yanks him into a hug, as if he had been expecting him, waiting for him.

“Come on,” Auston murmurs into his hair. He doesn’t let go, walks them into the apartment until they fall unceremoniously onto the couch. “I’ll throw on a movie.”

It’s not like Mitch has felt empty or anything without cuddling Auston. It’s not a need and there isn’t an incessant pull, not in the way that Mitch would imagine it’s like with a soulmate. It’s not like there were any cravings for Auston or anything silly like that, but Mitch would be lying if he said he didn’t miss this, even if just a little.

Mitch doesn't fully understand why, but Auston has this effect on him, his touch and his presence and his warmth has some kind of healing property reserved only for Mitch, absolving him of the adrenaline and the numbness and the guilt. It calms his heartbeat, steadies his breath. 

It feels like everything is going to be okay, even when it shouldn’t.

He knows that they’re not doing this anymore, a silent agreement to get over each other, to get over whatever infatuation or dependency or whatever the fuck they had. But Mitch can’t help it, he’s greedy and impulsive and barely pays mind to any sort of self preservation. He pulls Auston’s arm tighter around him, tucks his face into the crook between Auston’s chin and his chest. This is his spot and he needs it, wants it. And if Auston is offering, then Mitch is weak, hungry --  _ starving _ to take.

They stay like that for a while, Auston holding him tight, holding him like Mitch is the only thing that can ground him, like he needs him just as much as Mitch does him. They don’t say anything, the air too fragile, ready to shatter at the drop of a pin. They both know they shouldn’t, but they both continue, anyway.

Unfortunately, these kinds of things can’t last forever. 

“Mitchy?” Auston says, vulnerable, and so quiet that Mitch almost misses it. But he doesn’t, and he sighs. 

“Yeah.” It’s not really a question, nor an acknowledgement. It’s conclusive, heavy. It’s an unsaid  _ I know _ and a  _ thank you _ rolled with an  _ I’m sorry _ at the same time. It’s an  _ I’ll go now _ and a  _ we’ll never talk about this again _ with a hint of  _ this is fucked up _ .

“Mitchy,” Auston says again, firmer this time. Mitch freezes, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for that feeling --  _ heartbreak _ \-- all over again.

But then Auston is looking at him, head directly above his. They lock eyes and Mitch can’t remember the last time his eyes were so wide, so clear, so  _ open _ in a way he can’t quite describe. 

Then before he knows it, Auston is leaning down, closing his eyes as he locks their lips together.

Mitch always knew that it was unrealistic to expect fanfare and butterflies and instant sparks, to expect love at first kiss.

Except.

 

~

 

“Mitchy, Mitchy,” Auston pulls away, and he sounds winded, like he’s been bagskated and he’s only just made it off the ice. Mitch sits up, blinks, still a little dazed because… because…

“Auston?”

And Auston looks at him, so clearly worried, looks like he’s about to take it back. And Mitch can’t have that, not after feeling like  _ that. _

“Auston, I--” Mitch pauses, trying to find the words. “Auston, that was. That…  _ You _ feel like a soulmate.”

But apparently that’s the wrong thing to say because Auston looks down, fiddles with the edges of his armband. And although Mitch knows that he himself has become notorious with fidgeting with his armband, he’s never seen it in Auston. Ever. 

He tries to backtrack.

“I--” Mitch tries again, huffs when he can’t put it into the words, tugs at Auston so he listens, even as he thinks. “It felt like a soulmate should. And even though you’re not my soulmate, I want you to be.” He pauses. “Does that make sense?”

Auston looks up again, studies his face for a minute that feels like an eternity. But then finally, he smiles a little, just at the corner of his lip, like he’s been defeated. Like it’s funny in a not-funny way.

“What?” Mitch presses. “Aus, please.”

Auston shakes his head, then holds up his wrist. “Mitchy, take it off.”

Mitch blinks at him. “What?”

“Take it off,” he says again, pushes his wrist into Mitch’s hands, insistent. 

Mitch swallows, doesn’t break eye contact when his fingers touch the edges of Auston’s armband. “Are… are you sure?”

“ _ Mitchy. _ ” Auston says again, desperate. 

Nearly shaking, Mitch carefully peels back the edge, slipping the armband all the way off until there’s nothing obscuring the flesh of Auston’s wrist, at least four shades lighter than the rest of him. It’s a stark contrast against the soulmark, dark over his veins.

It’s a single smiley face. 

The same one that Mitch washes off his palms after every single game.

Mitch is frozen, can’t move, can’t believe -- 

Auston breathes deep through his nose, watches Mitch carefully. He doesn’t move, as if he’s afraid that if he moves, it’ll spook Mitch into running away, especially so soon after having him again.

“Auston?”

“I’m sorry,” Auston finally says all in one breath, in a rush, “I just. I wanted to be  _ sure. _ You know how I feel, I was scared. Especially because my soulmark is so  _ different _ than normal, you know? And then you drew it on my stupid tennis ball and--”

“Auston,” Mitch says again, still staring at the soulmark. He slowly looks up until their eyes lock again, and Mitch feels so incredibly stupid. All this time… All this time he knew, deep down. There was that little piece of him shoved so far back in his head. All the signs were there. Auston’s name was  _ right there _ on his wrist, the whole entire time. 

Which.

“Here,” Mitch says in a hurry, shoving his own wrist at Auston, bumping him in the chest. “Here, take it-- Auston,  _ here _ .” 

Auston is a lot quicker than Mitch, peels off the armband in one swift motion, letting it fall to the ground. Mitch doesn’t mind because then Auston’s looking at his wrist, bared for him. He’s looking at his own name, in his own handwriting, right there in front of him, etched on the pale skin over Mitch’s veins.

Mesmerized, Auston holds his wrist in one hand, delicately traces over each curve of the name, whispers the two syllable, like if he says it, he can single handedly confirm the existence of their soulbond, confirm the existence of  _ them _ . It’s almost like a prayer, a thank you to fate for delivering what it had promised.

And that’s when Mitch starts to laugh, dry but content, ecstatic, even. He wraps his arms around Auston and pulls him in tight. Hums, satisfied, when Auston holds him right back, like he never wants to let go.

And this time, he doesn’t have to.

 

~

 

Mitch loves the honeymoon period, if only because it’s the part where he gets to tell everyone, gets to shout it to the world that he has a soulmate, right there in the flesh and at his side.

He walks into practice without his armband, feeling a little naked, a little shy. But Auston must pick up on it because he grabs his hand without question, holds it tight and gives it a little squeeze. He runs his thumb over the soulmark real quick, a silent reminder that  _ hey, I’m right here with you all the way _ because that’s what exactly Mitch needs right then, right now, and Auston knows that, knows it better than Mitch does.

And it’s true because Mitch instantly relaxes, knows that this is  _ good _ and he doesn’t need to be nervous, not anymore, because his soulmate--  _ Auston _ is in this with him. 

The guys notice immediately, and so do the rest of the people in Mitch’s life. He doesn’t need to post the stupid cliche instagram photo of their wrists side by side, because he gets to show off his wrist, show off that he’s free-wristing, in person, with his soulmate right there with him. They get to put their wrists side by side in person, get to show it off in the flesh.

In fact, he gets to show off the scribble on his wrist like a shiny new toy, lets his friends from home trace over it, lets his teammates poke at it before practice. Mitch doesn’t know that many guys his age who’ve found already found their soulmate, it makes him feel special, exceptional. He’s got a soulmate, someone of his very own, and he’s right there at his side, all for him. 

And Mitch knows what his mark, the one on his soulmate, on Auston, looks like. He knows that Auston likes to trace over the big curve of the smile, likes to show off his mark in all its uniqueness, something so incredibly  _ them _ and only them. He knows that Auston still blushes about it, but likes to show off his soulmark the same way Mitch does, the same way Mitch  _ gets _ to.

It’s freeing, it’s wonderful, knowing that he doesn’t have to cover up his soulmark. It feels like he’s showing off Auston to the world, a daily reminder that he’s Auston’s and that Auston is his. Not that they’d ever forget, but it’s a piece of him, of them, that they can always carry with them, no matter what. Mitch is grateful he has it, has Auston. Has someone he’s found, a best friend, someone to build a happily ever after with.

When he tells this to Auston, he laughs and kisses his forehead. 

“Yeah,” he says, and looks at Mitch like he’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to look at. “I’m glad we found each other, too.”

So maybe Mitch had carried  _ Matty  _ with him for years and years, begged fate to bring them together, but in the end, he’s proud to say that he’s found  _ Auston _ all on his own.

  
  


:)

  
  


_ (end.) _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> **There's brief, onesided, past Matthew Tkachuk/Mitch Marner, squint-and-you'll-miss-it Christian Dvorak/Matthew Tkachuk, and very brief mentions of Mitch in relationships with other people before meeting Auston.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~  
>  
> 
> Happy birthday to my boy, Mitchell Daniel Marner! Thank you for being one of the main reason I accidentally fell in love with this team (I really didn't mean to stan the Leafs but wow has it been a joy of a wild ride these past three years). 
> 
> So funfact, I know Mitch's birthday is May 5, like abstractly, but I forgot it was coming up, so this whole thing was written in like twelve-ish hours? So hopefully it was still a fun read, because it was so incredibly fun to write!
> 
> The title is from “Never Be Alone” by ~~Musical Mitch Marner~~ Shawn Mendes :)
> 
> Oh and come hang out with me on twitter! @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite)! I'm fun sometimes, I swear, lol ♡


End file.
